I was an artist, i was poor but i was happy being a poor artist. I had pride as an artist. then came the day when i had to make decisions of practical matter. To be approved by society as someone “financially-independent”. I seldom get hungry now. I get to eat warm, good food compared to before when i had to live mostly on day old breads and instant noodles. Money can buy you anything but it cannot buy you contentment. And now I hunger, not for food but for satisfaction.
It’s been ages since i last held a pen and made a last decent satisfying work of art. The day I had a “normal” job began my long hiatus being an artist. I get to scrawl some sketches whenever i get free time but it only intensifies the thirst within. because of the necessity of work I was denied the privilege of passion. Now I understand that being an artist isn’t just a trade. It’s a calling. And the ability to walk freely in that calling is truly a privilege from God.
I miss it. I need it. like the air I breathe, more than life itself. It was true love lost, perhaps for a while, perhaps forever.